The Viking Symbol Mystery (6 page)

“The last we heard,” said the inspector, “was that a man with a gauze patch on his head had been seen in McMurray up the Athabasca River. But he disappeared before we could question him.”

“Kelly again, I'll bet!” Joe exclaimed.

Quickly the Hardvs revealed to the inspector their encounter with the suspect in Bavport, and their hunch he might have returned to the Northwest Territories.

“He mav still be wearing a bandage on his head,” Frank said.

The official was keenly interested. “I'll have the fellow's description broadcast again.”

Frank also reported that a man purporting to be Fenton Hardv had wanted to see Mr. Baker-Jones in the hospital. The officer made a note of this and wished the sleuths good luck.

Caribou accompanied the boys to their hotel. When they walked into the lobby, the desk clerk stopped them.

“Are you Frank and Joe Hardy?” he asked the brothers.

“Yes.”

The clerk reached behind him into one of the guest mailboxes.

“Here's a telephone message for you,” he said, handing Frank an envelope.

“What could it be?” Chet asked, peering over Frank's shoulder as he took out the note.

“It's from home!” Frank exclaimed, as he read the note aloud:
“ ‘Phone immediately. Plans changed.”'

THE Hardys stared at the message in concern. “I hope there's nothing wrong at home,” Joe said, looking worried.

The boys and Caribou hurried upstairs to the hotel room, and Frank called Bayport. Mr. Hardy answered the phone. After reassuring his son that everyone was fine, he explained, “I had a coded message from Sam Radley after your phone call. He received a report yesterday that an unidentified man bought ten drums of aviation fuel and two drums of oil at the Hudson's Bay Company store in Fort Smith.”

“That's on the Slave River,” Frank said. “It runs north into Great Slave Lake.”

“Right,” his father replied. “The man had the fuel delivered to a raft on the river, and Sam thinks he might be the one who stole the small float plane at Yellowknife.” The detective paused.

“Biff, Tony, and Sam are busy on another lead, so I'd like you boys to track down this one. If you get up there fast,” he continued, “you might be able to pick up the trail and find the hideout of the thieves around Great Slave Lake.”

“We'll leave pronto, Dad,” Frank said eagerly. “We planned to go there, anyway—on our own case. Caribou Caron is with us, and he has offered to be our guide.”

“That's fine,” said Mr. Hardy. “Have you seen the Edmonton police?”

“Yes,” Frank replied, “but they've had no success on the rune stone mystery. They had a report of a thin man with a gauze patch on his head at McMurray, but lost him there. Sounds as if he's the man who got away from us in Bayport.”

“That settles it. The sooner you and Caron get started for Fort Smith, the better!” the detective said. “Good luck!”

When Frank relayed Mr. Hardy's news to the others, Caribou slapped Joe so hard on the back the boy winced.
“Bon tonnerre!”
the giant cried. “This is the right kind of adventure for trapper. I have been in the city too long.”

Frank suggested that before leaving, he and Joe return to the hospital and show the staff a picture of their father and warn about the man posing as Fenton Hardy.

“In the meantime, Chet,” Frank continued, “you get plane reservations to Fort Smith on the first flight out. We'll meet you back at the hotel.”

Caribou said that he would do an errand. “I must buy new boots for the trip.”

When the Hardys arrived at the hospital, they quickly found the nurse in charge of the second floor and Frank showed her the snapshot of his father. “This is the real Fenton Hardy,” he said politely. “The man who wanted to visit Mr. Baker-Jones was an impostor.”

“Impostor!” the nurse exclaimed in alarm. “Why, I never suspected—oh dear!”

“Luckily no harm was done,” Frank assured her. “But please tell everyone that Fenton Hardy will not call on Mr. Baker-Jones.”

The nurse promised to warn the rest of the staff. Their next stop was at Edmonton police headquarters, where they found Inspector Knight at his desk.

“We've just talked to our father,” Frank explained. “Our plans have changed. We're flying to Fort Smith. We'll contact you if anything breaks there. And would you let us know if the impostor shows up again?”

Inspector Knight assured the boys that if the man was spotted, he would get in touch with them through the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Smith.

The Hardys thanked him and hurried back to the hotel.

“Reservations all set,” Chet reported. “Nothing for today. Take-off's at ten tomorrow. I've told Caribou, and he'll meet us here.”

The next morning the four set off for the airport. Their plane left on schedule. Minutes after they were airborne, Joe nudged Chet and pointed to the ground.

“Look!” he said excitedly. “We're already over wilderness.”

The landscape below was barren and the prairie looked desolate. What few trees there were appeared as dark patches on the brown earth.

After short stopovers at McMurray and Uranium City, the plane touched down at Fort Smith. This was familiar territory to Caribou and he took charge immediately.

“Only two cabs here,” he said, directing the boys to an old-model car. After their bags were put in the luggage compartment, the four climbed in. “We go to the company store first,” Caron directed the driver.

Presently they pulled up in front of a well-built wooden structure near the edge of town. A large sign over the entrance said:
Hudson's Bay Company.

“What do you know!” Chet said, as they pushed open the door. “It looks like a department store in Bayport.”

The large interior was filled with tables displaying brightly colored, heavy woolen clothing. A variety of rifles and leather goods hung on the walls. There were only a few other people in the store, and Caribou Caron led the way straight to a counter in the back.

“There's the factor,” the trapper said.

“The what?” Chet asked.

Caribou explained that the factor was the man who ran the store for the Hudson's Bay Company. The trapper strode over to a husky man, whom he introduced to the boys as Bill Stone. They all shook hands.

Frank asked, “Do you remember a man who bought ten drums of aviation gas and two drums of oil the other day?”

“Sure, I remember him,” the man said. “He gave me new hundred-dollar bills.”

“Bon tonnerre!”
Caribou shouted. “Monsieur Baker-Jones paid me for the rune stone in new hundred-dollar bills. That man who buy fuel and oil is the bandit who robbed us!”

“It does look like it,” Frank said slowly, “though it could be coincidence. Don't forget, there must be some other new hundred-dollar bills around.”

“Oui,
I know!” Caribou was excited. “But I feel this is our man—one of the thieves.”

“Did he give his name?” Joe asked Bill Stone.

Before the store manager had a chance to answer, something whizzed past Frank's head.
Thunk!
A steel knife blade embedded itself in the wall behind him. It hung there, quivering.

“Yowee!” Frank gasped, jumping back. The knife had almost grazed his hair.

“Bon tonnerre!”
yelled Caribou, whirling around.

The French-Canadian had instinctively crouched like a panther about to attack. He was ready for action, and his eyes flickered as he glanced in all directions.

The shock of the attack over, there was a mad dash to the open door. Outside, the boys and the French-Canadian scanned the street. The few passers-by looked harmless enough, and none could recall seeing a fleeing man.

“A clean getaway,” Joe said glumly.

“Sacrebleu!”
Caribou exploded.

“That sure was no accident,” Frank said grimly, regaining his usual calm. “We must really have hit the trail of something big.”

The group walked back into the store, where Mr. Stone stood looking out the window. “Did you find the knife thrower?” he asked worriedly.

“No!” Caribou boomed. “But we will!”

“Maybe it was the person who bought the aviation fuel,” Chet guessed.

“It could have been,” Frank agreed. He put the knife into his pocket, then asked the manager, “What is the name of the fuel customer?”

“He told me he was Jesse Keating,” Stone answered.

“An alias, probably,” said Frank, after hearing a description of the purchaser. “I'll bet he was Kelly.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Joe asked.

“Yes. To tow the fuel down Slave River on a raft to a lumber camp.”

“Lumber camp?” Caribou raised his eyebrows. “There is no lumber camp between here and Great Slave Lake.”

“Say, that's right, Caribou!” said the manager, scratching his head. “Wonder where he was heading?”

“I have a hunch maybe he was taking the gas to a hideout where he'll fuel that stolen float plane,” Frank said thoughtfully. “Now we have to figure out where the hideout is. Have you a map we could look at, Mr. Stone?”

“Sure,” the gray-haired man replied. “Here's a good one. Keep it!”

The boys crowded around the detailed map of the area. “This is where we are,” Caribou pointed out. “And this is the Wood Buffalo Park.”

“That would be a great place for a hideout,” Joe said. “Is it open to everyone, Caribou?”

“Yes, but you must have a permit,” the trapper answered. “The office is down the street.”

“Let's see who else has applied for a permit recently,” Frank suggested. “Maybe Keating is taking cover in the park.”

Everyone agreed. Mr. Stone said the travelers were welcome to leave their luggage as long as necessary. Outside, Frank suggested they first report the knife-throwing incident to the Mounted Police. The group went directly to the station, and handed the weapon to the officer in charge.

“We'll do everything possible to have the owner traced,” the Mountie promised.

Next, Caribou accompanied the boys to the Wood Buffalo Park office. A bald man of about thirty, dressed in a khaki shirt and pants, greeted them as they entered the small wooden building. “Caribou, I thought you were going to stay in the city and be a dude!” He grinned at the bearded trapper, who laughed loudly.

Caribou introduced the man as Curly Pike, assistant superintendent of the buffalo preserve. As the boys smiled over the humorous misnomer, Caribou said that Curly, as well as his boss, Superintendent Breen Connor, could fly anything with wings.

Frank asked Curly Pike if any strangers had entered the buffalo park recently. He explained about Jesse Keating and his cargo of fuel drums.

“We haven't issued any permits to a stranger for the past two weeks,” Curly replied, looking at the duplicates of the pass applications.

“Could a man have entered the park illegally?” Joe queried.

Curly Pike rubbed the top of his bald head thoughtfully. “It's possible. That's mighty rugged country and difficult to patrol. Somebody could sneak in without being seen.”

Disappointed, the boys thanked Curly, who wished them luck in their search. “Sorry not to be of any help,” he called, as they went out the door.

“We can still go on a search downriver,” Joe urged.

“It sounds funny to say ‘down' a river which runs north,” Chet said. “The current will help us, too!”

“We'll need a canoe,” Caribou said, heading down the main street of Fort Smith. “Come!”

When they reached the small docks at the edge of the river landing, Caribou made arrangements to rent a canoe with an outboard motor. He told the boatyard owner that they would be back for the craft in about two hours.

“What about food?” Chet pleaded. “We can't go without that.”

Frank and Joe laughed at their chubby friend. “That's a good suggestion,” Joe added.

“We'll go for supplies while our canoe's being fueled,” Frank said. “I've ordered some extra tanks of gas put aboard.”

The group trudged back up the hill to the Hudson's Bay store to buy canned meats, dried fruits and vegetables, and some new lines for their fishing rods.

After a snack the group went back to the supply store and picked up their provisions. Mr. Stone offered to keep their suitcases for the duration of the river trip and to accept messages for them. They took what clothing they would need from their bags, and went down to the dock. The boys stowed the rucksacks of food and clothes in the canoe, a large aluminum one with three paddles. Then they started down the Slave River, with Caribou in the stern handling the rudder and motor controls.

Skillfully he guided the craft past the dangerous upjutting rocks and swirling currents. Soon they were out of sight of Fort Smith.

“This looks like pioneer country, all right,” Joe observed presently.

When they rounded a bend, Caribou pointed out white water in the broad river. “Arctic wind is kicking up trouble,” he commented. Even as he spoke, the canoe began to pitch on the choppy surface.

The stream grew suddenly rougher, and the lightweight craft rocked from side to side.

“Tonnerre!”
Caribou boomed over the sound of the wind. “Hang on!”

The boys gripped the edges of the canoe to steady themselves as it heaved up and down in the growing swell. Chet, who was seated in the bow, gasped and exclaimed, “We've sprung a leak!”